Örlög gildrur okkur öll
by human-humanity04
Summary: Loki, being the rejected prince of Jotunheim, searches for a place within the nine realms. Fate brought him to Asgard, where he meets Thor, the golden son of Asgard, and an affair ensues. But fate splits them apart. Will they find each other again? AU, Loki/Thor, Thorki
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello everyone! This is my first actual multi-chapter fanfic! And it's of Thorki. I must be so proud of myself. Now I OFFICIALLY have no life! Hahaha, well, I hope everyone enjoys and comments and reviews are appreciated!**

**oooOOOooo**

Frigid winds blew through the air as dainty snowflakes pelted long, ebony hair. Brilliant red eyes glazed over the darkened forest searching for something he knew would never be there. Eventually, his hope drained as he exhaled an exasperated breath through the chilled air.

He quickly turned from the balcony and walked back into his sleeping quarters, slowly dreading what this day will bring: The Victor's Feast.

A place where he knew he would never be graced with, even if he was first born, even if he was intelligent enough, even if he _desired _it enough. He would never be worthy in the cold, red eyes of his father, King Laufey.

He gingerly sits on his bed, his hands gently curling into fists as he lays back onto his animal-hide covered bed, recalling every failed moment in his society's and father's face.

When he was younger, other Frost Giants would belittle him because of his stature, since by some horrid fate and terrible genetics, he had been stunted since the morn of his birth. He then remembers the stories they taunted him with. His father, looking at disgust upon his first born son, wished for his son to be cast out into the unknown, left to starve and rot away, but his mother, the king's wife, pleaded as her dying wish to not let her son, her last child, perish because of something the babe could not control. After her request, she died due to complications and exhaustion. Left with the pain of losing his beloved wife and abhorrence to his unworthy son, he relinquished the child's execution and let him live. The words the tormentors crushed him with bounced through his mind: _"Ha, just gaze upon the reject of the House of Laufey!" "Yes,and he cannot even carry a stone without breaking a bone!" "What a worthless heir to the Jotun throne, I'd rather him decompose among the snow and desolation of the forest, that would at least be more honorable than living!"_

The man's silent sobs streaked down his face and soaked the pelts around him.

He then recalls another memory of his father teaching him the ways of being a Jotun warrior. His tiny hands clasped around a sword that was twice his height, the size of the sword being normal for a Giant of his age. King Laufey proudly displayed his own weapon with grand strikes and jabs, angrily showing the younger Giant how to battle. The little one tried with abandon to do exactly as his father displayed before him, but to no avail. At each failed attempt, Laufey's rage and impatience grew. After a few more attempts, Laufey lashed out with vicious words, "_I do not know what my wife saw in your wretched eyes, but I do not see anything that would amount to worthiness of the Jotun throne. You cannot even handle a sword, how can you rule a realm?! You are a failure, as you will ever be, and there is nothing your deplorable being can do to rectify this fact….. LEAVE ME you INUTILE DOG." _ At hearing this, the little giant ran as fast as his lithe feet could take him, tears freezing in the rush of his exit, tinkling on the floor of the stone and ice palace, leaving a glimmering trail of sorrow.

More chest convulsions ensued from the man as he curled himself into a ball, crying loudly into the pillows at the head of his bed.

As the flood of emotion consumed the man, a knock reverberated through the hall, immediately stilling the cried from the man. The man stifled his sobs, dried his tears with the back of his hand, and headed towards the robust doors. The man wrapped his hand around the knob to the door and breathed a heavy sigh.

With reluctance, he pulled open to door to reveal a scantily clad guard, holding an ice spear, with only a cloak of wolf pelts to cover himself, staring down upon the shorter Giant with a look of stoic complexity.

"Come, Prince Loki, former heir to the Jotun throne. The king has requested your presence for your younger brother's Victory Feast."

Loki stared into the cold red eyes of the palace guard, wiped the last remaining tears from his misty eyes, corrected his stature, rolled his shoulders back, made sure his emeralds, rubies and gold twine were still woven intricately into his ebony hair, adjusted his royal sash and skirt, and marched out in front of the guard, determined to not let his father see him like this and to prove that _he _should have his Victory Feast, not his younger brother.

Loki's steps were the only sound heard through the strangely austere, open halls, until Loki took a quick left. Music sailed through the air to Loki's ears, melodic notes transforming Loki's stiff determination and depression into a feeling of relaxation and brief happiness.

Loki always favored the arts, especially music, which on the frozen realm of Jotunheim, was an art severely restricted to the women, the few women they did have on Jotunheim. But, when his father was not looking, Loki would gladly take hold of the harp used in feasts such as this and magically transport it to his sleeping quarters, in a hidden room where he could never be bothered, and play rhythms and melodies that would make the ice melt from the very core of the realm. Loki would admire those who could play their instruments openly, without any shame or guilt, able to free their pain, aggression, sadness, and passion into notes and sounds. They were truly free.

In the confines of that secret room, Loki would study and practice sorcery, another strictly feminine pleasure. The men of Jotunheim would value brute strength, fighting, wrestling, hunting, all aspects that ruthless warrior men must possess. Loki had none of these attributes; fighting, maybe, but nothing to be deemed "worthy" of Jotun masculinity and warrior finess. Thus, the study of sorcery entranced Loki and taught him valuable aspects in self-defense, yet this study transformed into a habit, and then a schooling all of his own creation. He could perform spells that took millennia for the ancients to master in only a few months. He could perform illusions that are so complex that dozens of spells are used to correctly complete the illusion. Loki studied every book, every scroll, ever ancient rune he could find to expand his magical knowledge. He has mastered the art of sorcery, yet he is the only one who knows of his abilities. If any Giant in the palace was to learn of his abilities -

A sudden crash awoke Loki from his thinking daze. Startled, he stepped back, arms a little raised, and he immediately froze. All of Jotunheim's greatest warriors seated at the four iced blue tables were looking upon Loki with abject horror, shock, and disgust. Even the waiters froze their gaze, but they did not stare at Loki, but what lay upon the glistening floor in front of him. Slowly, Loki's eyes traveled to the floor and widened when he realized what he saw.

His younger brother's prized hunt, the Dire Wolf, one of the last ancient beasts that traversed Jotunheim, a highly prized kill for any warrior on Jotunheim, was spilled upon the floor in a jumbled puddle of amber broth, mixed vegetables, and meat, steaming upon the ice floor.

No thoughts were running through Loki's mind as he looked upon the sight. Nothing but pure shock and terror took residence in his mind. Whilst having a panic attack in his mind, a thought finally rang and infinitely echoed through his mind: What is my father thinking of this?

Gathering enough bravery in his feeble body running on nothing but tired emotions, Loki raised his eyes to meet his father's.

There were no words to describe his father's expression except for a blend of passionate hatred and utter disgust. King Laufey stood up with a start as his stone gaze bore its way into Loki's soul. His grimace exemplified the hate exuding from his body language, his brow wrinkled from distaste. His father stood with a stance that could shatter mountains just by Laufey's ferocity. Loki's younger brother sent a look Loki's way that was not far different from his own father's.

Even the music ceased to play, but Loki hadn't had time to notice before his father brusquely stomped his way down between the four tables, heading straight toward Loki's shock-frozen form. Laufey viciously grasped Loki by the nape of his neck and personally dragged Loki out of the Feast.

As soon as the robust doors were closed by the servants, Laufey threw Loki onto the hard floor, a resounding thud echoing off of the walls. Loki coughed from the force of the impact and began to stagger onto his feet, but his father kicked sharply into his chest, skidding Loki across the floor and knocking the wind out of began to dribble from Loki's mouth while Laufey extended his right arm toward Loki, closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. Ice began to accumulate on his hand and transformed his hand and forearm into an iced spear. Through rapidly watering eyes and erratically strung out hair, Loki glanced up to his father as Laufey plodded toward him. Laufey plowed his foot onto Loki's chest and harshly placed the spear of the right side of Loki's face, a little blood drizzling from the puncture.

Laufey began with a harsh voice, "Loki. No words can conjure up the pure _hate _and _revulsion _that I feel toward you his very moment. You have _always_ disappointed me, but today brings a new level of hatred that has never been experienced by me except the hate for the Aesir of Asgard," at this, Laufey plunged the spear tip deeper into Loki's cheek, unleashing more blood and tears, while putting more pressure onto Loki's chest, "You are a disgrace to the House of Laufey, to the realm of Jotunheim, to even your own dismal existence. You will _never_ be anything to me. My wife was wrong. You _should _have rotted away in the deepest part of the forest, never to be known, so that you would not have brought ruin to everything you touch," He took a pause to gaze over Loki's crumpled form under his foot. "Now, go forth to your sleeping quarters, _wench_, for your punishment for the ruin of your brother's, the heir to the Jotun throne, Victory Feast has not yet begun." Laufey removed his foot from Loki's chest and sauntered back into the feast, but before he reentered the hall, one last whisper left Laufey's lips.

"_You will _never _be a member of the House of Laufey… you are _not _my son."_

The door clicked shut and Loki did not move from his position for another few minutes. Eventually, Loki placed his hands on either side of his bruised and battered body and strained to put himself back onto his feet. A pained grunt passed his lips as he pushed himself off the blood-stained ground to a full sitting position. Gasps of hurt reverberated in the hall, the sound being the only comfort Loki had. He scooted towards the wall and used it to slide up hopefully ending up being able to stand.

As he straightened himself out, a snap shot through the air as an ear-splitting scream followed. Loki collapsed in pain upon the floor, his left hand grabbing hold of his chest, sending out sobs through his right hand-muffled mouth, fresh tears streaming onto the floor. As the sobs convulse his body, Loki thought about the words that his father had said to him. He had known the revulsion Laufey held toward his mutated son, but he did not know to what extent. He had never said he did not wish Loki to be his son, until tonight.

His father truly, purely, utterly _abhorred_ him.

Loki tried a second time to stand upon his own two feet and succeeded, but the pain from his injuries and his father's words destroyed him. He staggered toward his sleeping quarters, but he was not planning on waiting for his father to "finish" the punishment. Loki, grabbing a few personal belongings and a few spell books, limped towards the wall covered with bookshelves. He uttered a single incantation and the wall split apart to reveal Loki's secret room. Assorting the candles and runes into their appropriate place, Loki gingerly sat in the middle of the drawn runes, careful of his broken rib, and barely whispered the needed words for the spell to work. As the last word passed his lips, a green mist gradually began to surround him, encircling him. More mist poured from each of the twelve runes placed around Loki.

Before the final step needed to fully complete the spell was completed, Loki stilled. He wondered if this was the right decision, abandoning all he has known. But he knew that this had to be. Loki had always dreamed of a faraway place where people would actually appreciate him, where the crowds would cheer just by seeing his face. He just wanted to feel like he belonged somewhere in the universe, not treated as an outcast, a worthless being who has no purpose in living, a rejected son because of something he could not possibly control. He wanted to find his way in the realms, to figure out where exactly he belonged. He did not know where he would discover this place, but he knew deep down to his bones that Jotunheim would not be this place.

Thus, with a clean conscience and a new surge of confidence did Loki complete the last step, a simple wave of the hand, and the mist erupted from the runes, surrounding him in a thick veil of green. A minute tingling sensation formed in his feet, then traveled upward towards his calves, then his thighs, his torso, his arms, his neck, and eventually his head. The tingling encompassed his whole being and became more profound. Suddenly, he was thrust into a black abyss, not knowing where this would take him. He was being taken faster and faster through this abyss, the tingling sensation growing and growing throughout his entire body until a solid hit upon an object stopped all sensation.

**oooOOOooo**

Loki laid within the tall grasses of a distant field, unconscious, but breathing, the green mist evaporating in the hotter climate. A few minutes passed and Loki jutted awake, quickly glancing at his surroundings, seeing if there was any immediate danger. Sensing none, Loki wobbled his way onto his feet, losing his balance a couple of times.

What he saw astounded him.

A gleaming palace shown through the realm, the starry sky a plethora of colors and shades Loki had only ever seen in books. The gold of the realm almost blinded him because of the darkness of Jotunheim. A multi-colored bridge jutted out into space just to his left. After a few seconds Loki fully realized where he landed.

He landed on Asgard.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Through the golden radiance of Asgard and the spectral colors of this new realm did Loki realize that it was hot, way too hot. He then looked down upon his skin and realized he was still in his Jotun form.

_Oh no, this is bad, very bad, _Loki thought, _How am I to survive upon Asgard when I am in this form? They _despise _the Frost Giants._

To solve this dilemma, Loki immediately reached for his shoulder bag and pulled out a book of ancient spells, sat on the ground and scanned the content for a particular illusion spell, a spell to hide his true identity. Loki flipped to the page holding the spell in haste, in fear that an Asgardian will spot him among the tall gold-drenched grasses of the field. He uttered the sacred words without missing a beat and a blue fog oozed from the page of the book, taking control of Loki's body and paralyzing him where he sat. This unnerved Loki, the reason being that Loki is vulnerable where he sat, susceptible to any attack because of the paralyzing effect of the spell.

This frightened him, reminded him of home, a place of hell.

The fog gradually traveled up his body, coating every inch of ridged skin, every pelt hair of his loin cloth, every bejeweled hair upon his head, every crevasse of his horns, until he was blinded from the thickness of the fog. Unlike the previous teleportation spell, where his whole body tingled in pain, the fog emitted a warmth from within, a rather pleasant sensation for Loki, for warmth was a rare commodity upon the realm of Jotunheim. The warmth permeated from the core of his body, swimming through his veins, through every capillary until his whole body radiated with warmth.

At last, finishing its job, the fog drained back into the book, leaving Loki breathless from the sudden chill his body experienced.

Loki froze and thought.

_The sudden chill?_

He gawked at the sight before him. Where ridged azure blue skin used to lie, pale, pinkish skin replaced the blue. In surprise, his hands flew to his body, to touch every inch of skin exposed, to really believe that the spell worked. Hands rushed to his face, not feeling the horns, the rough feel of his Jotun skin. Instead he felt, smooth, warm skin. A smile spread across Loki's face and an unbelieving chuckle followed. He could not believe that the illusionary spell worked!

But curiosity still pervaded his mind: what exactly did he look like in Asgardian form?

Still afraid someone would come upon him; Loki conjured up a mirror from the wave of his hands and gazed upon his face. Where red eyes pierced, striking, luminous green eyes shone through. In awe, Loki raised his right hand and grazed his defined cheekbones, gently touched his rose-tinted lips. He could not believe how….how….handsome he was in Aesir form. Absentmindedly, he went to run a hand through his hair, and his hand tangled within the gold twine and jewels that still lay intricately within his long, raven hair.

He gently put down the mirror upon a rock, angled just right, so Loki could detangle the remnants of the jewels from his hair. Delicate hands gently unwoven the precious stones from his hair, separating the Jotun from the present Aesir. As the last of the stones and twine were removed from his hair and put into his shoulder bag, Loki ran both hands through his hair, a long-held in sigh escaping from his lips.

He was free, finally free; and what a feeling it was to be free from any constraint.

He laid back; finally relaxing among the isolation provided by the tall grasses and finally breathed in the Asgardian air, his liberation. An emotion bubbled within Loki, an emotion that only certain things like music and magic brought to his life. Happiness brewed inside of Loki and made itself known by the unending smile plastered to his face. Loki let his eyes slip closed, silently rejoicing in his joy, releasing tension in his body and getting himself comfortable among the wilderness, listening to the sounds of birds and the wind through the trees and grasses. Eventually, the sounds of the wilderness lulled Loki to a much needed slumber.

**oooOOOooo**

Loki awoke to the sounds of crashing trees and roars of men's voices. He sprung onto his feet, still dressed in his Jotun pelts, quickly grabbed his shoulder bag containing his most treasured possessions, and ran as far as his lithe feet could carry him away from the unknown noises.

He ran and ran until he could no longer hear the thunderous roar of the men in the forest.

Gasping for much needed air, Loki rested upon a log, still hidden within the edge of the golden grass field. Fear thrummed through his body, his eyes widening from the extra adrenaline. His head snapped around, scanning the nearest foliage for the creators of the deafening sounds. A few quiet moments of the winds rustling through the tall grasses assuaged Loki's anxiety and eased his already frazzled nerves. A gradual calmness swept over Loki, soothing his brittle emotions, and coaxing him into a state of relative peace.

Loki relaxed for a few more moments, finally realizing that the danger has passed. After nearly being caught by those strange men in the forest, Loki decided the best plan of action now was to make his way to the great gates of Asgard, but one problem still persisted within his mind.

If he was disguised as Asgardian, what would his name be?

Pondering this question, Loki's right hand grazed his chin in contemplative thought. In his times in Jotunheim, Loki always went to the library to escape within books, to escape from his horrid life and live as another. He has read many tales of heroes, villains, and battles in his time at the library, eventually coming across varied names that he loved. Of those were Bjartr, the bright, Hákon, the high son, and Stígandr, the wanderer. Keeping in mid his new appearance and journey from the prison of Jotunheim, Loki believed a fresh name would be needed to bless his new life, thus he figured Bjartr would work just fine.

Bjartr, the bright, the shining beginning of a new life, of a fresh start, to be anyone he desired to be. At this Loki smiled.

But, before he ventured into the Aesir village, he needed a new set of clothing; his Jotun garbs would only exposed his true identity, and to be honest, they did not really fit into Loki's tastes. Hence, Loki rummaged through his lone bag and chose a light green tunic and brown breeches. Simple, yet completely beautiful. Loki would only wear these clothes to slumber or to a fancy festivity, otherwise he was forced to wear the animal pelts. Now, Loki, actually Bjartr, would be given the chance to wear the clothes in a new skin, a new life.

He changed his clothes, carefully placed his pelts into his satchel, quickly made sure everything was in order, and began his journey to the village of Asgard.

As he traversed through the robust wooden gates of the village, Loki gazed around his surroundings, an instinct learned on the primal realm of Jotunheim. People converged and swirled around in every direction, bargaining in the markets or gabbling in the town square. Fruits and plants of every kind were scattered throughout the streets, paired alongside varied household necessities and rare trinkets, all cast in a radiant golden light, which Loki would never get used to, no matter how long he would lived on Asgard.

Everything seemed cast in an ethereal glow, giving each object a radiance of its own, reassuring Loki that this was meant to be, this is what he wants, this is what he needs.

Slowly moving through the crowds, Loki ponders about where he would be able to get accommodations and a job. As if someone could read his mind, or as if a higher being was watching him, a person of average stature, ragged short brown hair, and deep brown eyes fell onto the ground a few feet in front of Loki. The man's face collided with the hard ground, immediately breaking the man's nose, blood oozing from his nostrils. A burly man of red wiry hair burst through the two swinging doors, angrily placing his hands on his hips and addressing the man on the ground with contempt.

"You insatiable heathen! You are an imbecile who cannot do an honest day's work, always scheming and filching my hard earned money! You are never allowed back here, do not traverse through these doors again, or you will never walk upon your two legs again!"

At this, the man on the ground growled, groveled to regain his composure, brushed off his beyond destroyed shirt of the caked on mud and dirt, and mockingly stomped off into the crowd, mumbling profanities on his way.

The ginger man hung his head and scratched his head, releasing a long held in sigh. Just barely audile enough for Loki to hear, the man's words floated into Loki's ears, "How am I going to find a man to replace Jotlr? I cannot seek a man in this short of notice. How am I going to replace him?"

Loki listened and realized that this was his opportunity at getting a job, and hopefully accommodations, so Loki gracefully walked toward the disappointed man, tapped him on the shoulder, and introduced himself with politeness and eloquence and wisdom of tongue, habitual remnants of his former life.

"Hello good sir. My name is Bjartr and I could not help but overhear the dispute between you and another man. I also could not help but overhear your fears and woes about seeking a suitable replacement. Even though I am an inexperienced man with no job experience, I am quick to learn and grasp concepts; I could be a valuable asset to your business, if you will only let me try."

The man grazed Loki's appearance, from his head to his feet and back up again. Gradually, the man's eyes met Loki's and the man's eyes sparkled with his every growing smile. Happiness exuded from the man as he laid his gruff hand on Loki's shoulder. The man laughed a full-hearted laugh and happily replied, "Ha, hello young man, my name is Bjorg, and I will gladly and gratuitously take you up on your offer! You seem a man of learned patience and kindness, very good traits for any man to have. But, you will be working in a tavern, which sometimes can be a very rough and despicable place to be. You will have to deal with the ruffians, the common criminals, business owners, farmers and farmhands, prostitutes, common folk, and above all, Asgardian Warriors, valued high amongst all of Asgard, and who think they need to be respected as gods! Bah! Anyway, Bjartr, your name better assure me of what you can offer. Now, are you ready to take on the job as bartender?"

With all of Loki's hardship, now here is the chance to make him happy, to find true freedom. With an excited nod of the head and an enthusiastic smile, Loki agreed and walked into the tavern with Bjorg to start a new life.


End file.
